


Illuminate

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Allusions of miscommunication, Angst, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Viktor is so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 04:07:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Why don’t you understand Viktor?” Yuuri was rubbing his hand down his face, frustration firmly planted between the crease of his eyebrows, the frown marring his sweet mouth.He didn’t understand how Yuuri’s lips could curl around his name and make it sound like a prayer even when he was so- Viktor didn’t understand.“I won’t be able to win gold.”





	Illuminate

It was nighttime, and he hadn’t planned to spend it drinking, yet it seemed to be part of the many things that he was unable to exercise control over. Rain, sun, snow, nights he didn’t want to spend drinking, and Yuuri- just to name a few.

 

There was a serenity within him in unknown places that he hadn’t felt at his own home, not that he was willing to ultimately call it home any more.

 

The stars seemed to shine brighter in these cities, the air seemed to be clearer, and sometimes he felt as if he concentrated hard enough he’d be able to scope out galaxies from the window of the small bar he was sat in. He felt a sense of belonging in a place where he couldn’t fluently place his order without using elaborate hand gestures.

 

Home with Hiroko and Toshiya was busy and comfortable and lively, and even when there were hushed arguments in the laundry rooms or the kitchen there was still so much warmth and love present. Home was the katsudon that Hiroko was teaching him to make, and home was Toshiya calling him ‘son’, and home was Mari teasing him mercilessly about his barrage of hair products.

 

The drone of the TV playing in the background of the bar, the hum of patrons talking to one another, the gentle clinking of glass and the sound of his own slow breathing. His heart beating.

 

Home wasn’t quiet. Home wasn’t pindrop silence and alphabetically organised bookshelfs. Home wasn’t strewn clothes across pristine floors and stray medals collecting dust in dark corners and behind bed frames. Home wasn’t just Makkachin greeting him from the doorstep of an expensive dog-sitter.

 

He took another sip, cherishing the burn down his throat.

 

Yuuri had brown eyes. Yuuri had a mole on his neck. Yuuri picked at his fingernails. Yuuri licked his lips to catch his attention.

 

Sometimes Yuuri’s words set him on fire, and Viktor felt like he was burning up hard and fast enough to illuminate the whole of Japan. He’d do things that would make him reckless. Yuuri would help him drown and help him burn up and _urge_ him to do things like kiss him on national television. Sometimes Yuuri would be his saving grace, his salvation, his love. Damien and Sinclair.

 

Sometimes.

 

Sometimes he’d be too much.

 

Sometimes he’d be not enough.

 

What he wanted, and what he needed would highlight themselves as two different things. And it wasn’t Yuuri’s fault. It wasn’t his either. It just was what it was. It was circumstances and it was the world working in it’s mysterious ways.

 

And so we beat on boats against the current.

 

And so he stands and pays his tab. Gingerly picks his way out of the bar, cheerfully waving to some of the others patrons. And finally he’s outside. There’s a background din from the bar, and his heavy breathing. His heart beating.

 

Previously tears had gathered at his lashes and fell and fell. He had no control over his limbs nor his heart. Now he feels put together. He feels like he’s burnt and drowned and become one with the air and the sea.

 

He needs to go home.

 

But home is on another continent.

 

Home is in a hotel room in a foreign city.

 

He needs to go back to Yuuri.

 

Looking up, his eyes trace the stars, and maybe what he sees are galaxies, and nebulas, and supernovas, and maybe what he wants to see is the sky.

 

* * *

 

_So many Stars and still we starve._

 

* * *

 

 

“Why don’t you understand Viktor?” Yuuri was rubbing his hand down his face, frustration firmly planted between the crease of his eyebrows, the frown marring his sweet mouth.

 

He wanted to brush it away, he wanted it to be better, and he desperately wanted to figure out why Yuuri was so insistent- Why Yuuri felt that he couldn’t- And even if he couldn’t, why didn’t Yuuri understand that Viktor _didn’t care._ That his love wasn’t a condition, nor a contract with the payment in the form of a gold medal.

 

He didn’t understand how Yuuri’s lips could curl around his name and make it sound like a prayer even when he was so- Viktor didn’t understand.

 

“I won’t be able to win gold.”

 

He didn’t understand how Yuuri couldn’t see how much Viktor’s heart loved him. His heart loved him as much as it could until it felt like it sang his name with every beat. How could his flimsy heart, that loved him so, _so_ much make his love conditional.

 

And they were both selfish, unwavering, and hurting. He could see how Yuuri’s eyes were growing redder, and he was holding himself stiffly, the frustration more evident than ever.

 

He wanted to reach out and pull him towards him. Two planets, in orbit. More than ever he wanted to scream. His hands shook from the severe amount of _feeling_. His throat felt raw. And he felt like he was tipping, tipping, tipping.

 

He could feel his anger, his helplessness bubbling up. Yuuri was so… Yuuri had reached for him- Yuuri was surprised he had cried- Yuuri had been surprised- Yuuri was so much- Yuuri was so, so much. He pressed his lips together, willed his mind to stop racing. Stop spilling over, overflowing. Stopped himself from doing the same. Prostrating and begging.

 

There was so much to say, and in all the languages he knew there weren’t enough words.

 

So much. So little. Yuuri was so much.

 

And he wasn’t.

 

He wasn’t enough.

 

* * *

 

_I am destined to illuminate you by burning myself up._

 

* * *

 

 

Some days he’d feel like he was on a cloud. Some days he wouldn’t be able to believe how happy he was. He’d never claimed to not be a romantic. Dancing your feelings on the ice as a career- telling stories of love and loss guaranteed some form of romantic within you whether you denied it or not. And Viktor just happened to be the best. The best on the ice, the best story-teller-

 

Yuuko, Mari, Minako and Nishigori took turns to tell him how Yuuri saw Viktor as the best. The best everything. And that he should stay the best, because Yuuri was putting his heart in his hands. A fragile skaters heart. And Viktor should know that loving someone means giving someone the power to destroy them, and Viktor shouldn’t ever- ever- Viktor should never do that to Yuuri-

 

Viktor had power.

 

Days spent on the ice with Yuuri, his laughter echoing in the rink were some of his best. Walking Makkachin by the beach and just talking. Quiet whispers as the sun set, and time passed like the sand between their toes, and they’d be content all the same. Some nights he’d turn in strange hotel rooms, his head cushioned by sterile smelling pillows and he’d see him and he’d be falling in love all over again. He wouldn’t raise his hand to touch him, he’d watch him breathe in and out. He’d count each separate eyelash and he’d watch them quiver softly. He’d fall in love with each and everything about him. When he would touch him it would overflow with reverence. Worship and love- a thin line.

 

Of course they weren’t perfect, they tried their best. Even when bickering on the ice they’d come to some sort of compromise quickly. When Viktor would mess up, say something out of line and watch tears of frustration well up in Yuuri’s eyes he’d be quick to apologise. He’d be quick to try to fix it. When he over did it with his teasing and saw the downturn of Yuuri’s mouth he’d be just as fast to stop and change the topic. When Yuuri kept falling, and Viktor kept criticising he’d do his best to be more aware on the ice. He’d do his best to not be too much, and he’d do his best to be the best. The best Yuuri needed.

 

Viktor was thoughtless and handsy, and he watched Yuuri grow comfortable with it. Watched Yuuri grow to enjoy him blurting out his unfiltered opinion and his touches. But Viktor was cruel and sharp with his words. He knew. He knew too well. He had power. He had power over Yuuri’s fragile skater heart.

 

But Yuuri- Yuuri was so much.

 

A hurricane, the sun, fire, and the sea, and then there was Yuuri.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri was the man with eyes like steel and a body that moved like it was making music. Yuuri was the man with the fragile skaters heart, and another ice heart that soared and danced through his fingers. His body was was a song, his flesh a poem. And they fell together in the very hotel room Yuuri had broken him and with the same curl of his lips he called his name.

 

“I love you.”

 

Those hands that were so sure, always steady, trembled against his skin. He kissed his knuckles, slowly, softly. He repeated his name, pulling him closer, closer, until he could feel his heartbeat against his. Their lips touched, and the sun set outside. Soon Yuuri’s heart beat as his. They were so close that Yuuri’s hand on his chest was his own, his every breath was Yuuri’s breath.

 

He hid his face against Yuuri’s chest, and Yuuri turned his head against his. He felt his lips on his neck and sighed.

 

Like this they were what they were, like this nobody else would see them.

 

* * *

 

_I remember_

_how seeing the shape of your mouth_

_that first time, I kept staring_

_until my blood turned to rain._

 

_Some things take root_

_in the brain and just don’t_

_let go._

 

* * *

 

When they arrived back to Hasetsu they were hand in hand. Makkachin was barking excitedly, and the hot spring was just as inviting as he’d left it. The sky was clear, and on the way here Yuuri had pointed out three different dog clouds, and had entwined his fingers even more tightly while pointing ardently to their exact position when he hadn’t been able to see them.

 

Hiroko is waiting for them when they get back, steaming bowls of katsudon and smiles and hug awaiting them. Toshiya pats his back as he puts his suitcase beside Yuuri’s and greets him. Mari offers him a small lazy smile from where she’s sat. He feels home. From the small smiles that Yuuri shoots him when Hiroko calls him Vicchan and Toshiya calls him son. From the way he laughs along with Mari and gently nudges him when she immediately starts teasing him for carrying lip balm and moisturiser on his being at this very moment.

 

From the way he gently places his hand on the small of his back to guide him to their- _their-_ bedroom, and leads him to their bed. Hiroko calls for her son, her voice distant, probably from the kitchen. Japan’s Ace Skater, the man that stole Viktor away from the ice, Yuuri. He smiles at him, kisses him lightly and Viktor smiles back. Lovesick.

 

He lays back, toys with his ring, turns his head, and astutely tries not to listen in to the hushed sounds filtering into the room. Yuuri hasn’t spoken once. It’s all Hiroko- calm, quiet and scarily intimidating sounding. He hears thickly accented Japanese. And although he isn’t completely fluent, he recognises his own name. He feels a flush rising to his cheek. An odd happiness as he realises what’s happening.

 

Tears prick at his eyes threatening to slide down his cheeks as Yuuri returns a few minutes later and gently slides into bed across from him. He brings his warmth with him, and Viktor greedily wants to cling to him.

 

At night he can go outside again and stare at the clear sky scattered with stars and search for galaxies and comets. At night he can search for another world, but he’s seen the sky.

 

He enters Yuuri’s arms with a sigh, kisses the underside of his jaw, and closes his eyes.

 

He feels alive, he stretches his hand out, unfolded in the sunlight and takes a deep breath. He’s home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of Love and Kisses to my sweet beta Smutlet 
> 
> "So many Stars and still we starve." A direct quote from Tasos Leivaditis, from A Manual For Euthanasia (1970).
> 
> "And so we beat on boats against the current." Refers to that famous line from the Great Gatsby.
> 
> "I am destined to illuminate you by burning myself up." A direct quote from Maurice Blanchot, from The Work of Fire, translated by Charlotte Mandell. 
> 
> The mention of Sinclaire and Damien is from the book 'Damien' by Hermann Hesse and Damien is seen by Sinclaire almost as a symbol of salvation- A person who led Sinclaire out of despair.
> 
> There's mentions from Franz Kafka's, 'The Castle.'
> 
> "I remember how seeing the shape of your mouth that first time, I kept staring..." from T.S Elliot, 'Slow Dance'
> 
> The Final Line was a direct reference to Margret Atwood, 'The Hand Maiden's Tale.'
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://evermoredeath.tumblr.com/)


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